Breakfast Will Now Be Proceeded By Paranoia
by High-Par-Bowl-E
Summary: The Dursleys take their dear little Duddy-kins out for the day, leaving Harry to some R&R time. Whoops, did I say R&R? I meant getting-projectile-food-shot-at-him time. Craaaaaaaaaaaaaaack one-shot.


**So, I'm publishing this for my cousin, 'cause she's awesome and helpful. Now you know my fanfiction account ya little twerp, assuming you find this. Everyone else, just remember I have no idea what I'm doing, and that this is more crack than anything else, 'kay?**

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><p>Early one summer morning, – or fairly early; the sun had already been up quite a few hours, and the birds joyously singing for just as long – a not quite awake Harry Potter stumbled into the kitchen of his uncle's house. His green eyes glanced around blearily as he wished breakfast would just magically make itself. Unfortunately, he, the only person currently home, not to mention the only wizard, was still underage, and thus had to do things the muggle way.<p>

Upon realizing that he wasn't all that hungry and that he didn't want to cook, the boy ran a hand through his dark, eternally messy hair and started towards the refrigerator, hoping to find something small that didn't require a lot of work. The day was nice and peaceful, as he had the place to himself for a few hours; the Dursleys had decided it was time they took their son out to buy some new clothes.

The teen tripped with a small cry of surprise about halfway through the kitchen and came to the decision that even getting out of bed this morning had been a bad move. A day that started with your forehead and the floor in a short, painful relationship before deciding they're better off going their separate ways and leaving you with a bruise, along with the fact that the toaster had started emitting an ominous purple aura, clearly indicated that the world was against you that day; made better only by the fact that he didn't have to share the morning with his _oh so loving _family.

Still slightly stunned from his fall, though a little more awake because of it; Harry stared wide-eyed at the toaster from his position on the floor. Having lived with his muggle relatives his whole life, he knew full well that this wasn't a normal occurrence; toasters didn't begin to levitate surrounded by a miasma of violet all by themselves. The boy promptly stood up and backed away with all the speed of a caffeinated rabbit on a sugar high.

As the toaster rolled in the air to show the slots with bread already in them, aimed at the dark-haired boy, he happened to catch his foot on a chair and land on his back on the floor. Although dazed by his second fall that morning, he was still alert enough to notice the slice of burnt toast sailing through the air right where his head had been previously. The blackened food item hit the wall with a dull sound, leaving a dent. Once again, he had been saved by pure luck.

Reflexively rolling to the side to avoid another slice of deadly toast; the teen's brain finally registered what was happening, and that yes, this was a potentially dangerous situation. The next thing he noticed was that he was still in his pyjamas. His pyjamas didn't happen to have pockets, and, upon being attacked by a purple-glowing toaster not two seconds previously; Harry silently vowed to always be dressed and be carrying his wand whenever he left his room from then on.

Thinking quickly, he flipped the nearby table onto its side, shattering an expensive vase on the floor, but providing the boy with temporary cover from the homicidal kitchen appliance. If the food didn't kill him, his aunt could later.

Shielded from the crunchy projectiles by a few centimetres of wood, Harry didn't feel all that safe, but he needed a plan. As far as he could tell, the toaster was still plugged into the wall. While this limited its movements, it may also have meant that the appliance needed to be connected to electricity to continue to be animated. The unfortunate part was that the toast was being fired at him with increasing speed, though he didn't know where it was coming from; it seemed to materialize inside the toaster, ready to be fired with alarming force.

The table was beginning to splinter from the constant barrage, and it was obviously not helping that the table had taken a lot of abuse over the years. Harry shifted his position behind the table as his leg began to feel weird from lack of blood flow.

His shoulder brushed the underside of the table, and it wobbled, just as some of the toast projectiles hit the tabletop near the floor. The table pitched forward slightly; Harry ducked and readied himself to run for the next room if necessary.

It may have been proof that one needed a brain to aim; but to Harry, it was more good luck when another burnt slice hit the top left table leg as squarely as it could on an angle, loosening it a great degree and pushing the whole thing back to a more stable position. Hooray for gravity.

Harry grabbed the end of the wooden leg and began wiggling it free of the table; it seems it was already a little loose where they connected. With sudden careless stupidity, he firmly planted a foot on the underside of the table and tugged on the leg with all his strength, managing to pull the leg free and knock the table over with the same action.

He yelped as a pop tart grazed his right ear, before swinging his makeshift club at an incoming waffle. Evidently, the toaster was running out of bread. Oh joy of joys. As long as it didn't resort to bagels, he should be able to handle it.

Keyword: should.

Harry ducked another one of the Pop Tarts and stared moving towards the toaster, which was now flickering through different shades of lavender in a way that suggested it was laughing. Some other sort of toasted breakfast food, (unrecognizable due to being as black as his old cupboard under the stairs at two A.M.,) hit him in the left shin, and reflexively, he brought his leg closer to his body, hopping in the general direction of the animated appliance on his right foot.

Oh, what a lovely morning. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and our teenaged protagonist had just slipped on a stray bit of toast and crashed to the floor.

Harry rolled to his side to keep the toaster in his sight as the sun glinted off the metallic side of the malevolent appliance. Said appliance was carefully lining up a couple of waffles with the teen's face, and they were soon speeding towards him about to hit, when…

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><p>Harry woke up. Oh, yes, it had been a dream. Thank… someone. Pick a deity, it doesn't matter. Got one? Good. Thank them.<p>

He rubbed his eyes, getting rid of some of the blurriness before stretching, and then attempted to get out of bed, promptly getting hopelessly tangled in the sheets.

"Drat."

A few minutes later he was heading towards the kitchen, wand tucked securely into the back pocket of his jeans, because hey, that dream had made him slightly paranoid.

And when the toaster in the kitchen inevitably began levitating and glowing menacingly at Harry, he was prepared.

"Stupefy!" He cried, pointing his wand at the toaster.

The spell shot out red towards the shiny object, bounced off the metallic surface, and shattered an unfortunately placed Priceless Irreplaceable Heirloom. Oh, his aunt was going to have an aneurism.

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><p><strong>Stupid boy, don't you know that the enemy of toasters is water? No? Obviously, electricity and water don't mix, so find some water spell or something.. <strong>

**This was an assignment at school. I had to write a story with a conflict, and because of how the teacher set it up, I had to write a story involving a toaster. At least I didn't get stuck with Ronald McDonald.**

**I proofread my own stuff, so mistakes are all my fault, yay!**


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